Ewe, Lioness, or?
by RakeeshJ4
Summary: On the advantages of bromances of the female variety, the importance of withholding judgment, constructive ways of working out Daddy Issues, or How Two Badass Inhuman Ladies Took Skyrim by Storm(call). Serana of Dawnguard and the Dovahkiin, Joan du Shinji, meet, mistrust, gallavant, swashbuckle, adventure, trust, and kill things and take their stuff. (Not romance, to be clear.)
1. Chapter 1

She could not say whether the cause was time spent in a dark prison or whether the source of the strangeness she observed in her traveling companion was innate. It was difficult to be objective at the best of times, of course. Seemingly infinite hours spent pondering the ruin of her family in the dark had led to some insights, and among them was the wariness of certainty: both mother and father were utterly persuaded of their own correctness which had led only to stalement and familial ruin...as well as uncounted time locked in a blank stone cage. That was another insight her imprisonment had prompted-blank stone cages not much larger than one's own body were to be avoided, and circumstances that led to them were to be regarded with suspicion at best.

But all of these thoughts flitted through her mind in an instant. They were well-worn paths, most of them, and there was so much to see. Distantly she knew that after so long a captive _anything_ would be noteworthy, but still the sight was truly breathtaking. Or might have been, had she more need for breath.

"And so that's Solitude?" she asked sounding indeed breathless though with excitement rather than exertion. It had been long, long, since she had laid eyes on it and seeing the only vaguely familiar, much larger city distant between trees and peaks she was beginning to have some notion just how long that might have been.

"Aye, so it is," replied her comrade, who continued her habit of cheerful indulgence of Serena's questions. After so long without human-'Without _any_ contact' she corrected herself with a twinge-it was difficult at first for the very old vampiress to restrain herself, but she had done so, measuring her liberator with cautious eyes taught by treacherous family to be wary. Indeed things might have been chilly indeed, even for their alpine trails, had not circumstance demanded an abrupt detour from her path home.

On their way through woods she no longer recognized at all-nor even the hills and mountains, much-the pair came across a shattered wagon. Serena was happy to take her comrade's lead, since although it was one thing to be sure of one's self underground escaping prison, where everything that tried to stop you could be safely regarded as an enemy-Serena had wisdom enough to know that things were different in the wider world. A long, considering look from her comrade before with gestures and meaningful looks she communicated that Serena should be silent and watchful. Some spells were cast-silently, no less, which impressed Serena greatly. That was a sign of mastery, and not the first.

While she was preparing herself for a fight, Serena noted a grim expression flit over her comrade's face. "No animals, no people, and no remains. Too soon to be sure, but I'll be surprised if this isn't Falmer," she warned and Serena was taken aback slightly by the grimace of disgust-hatred, even-that colored her expression for a moment. "Keep watch," she told her with such authority that Serena-no meek woman herself, far from it!-nodded sternly and did so. 'I don't know the year or the circumstances. She's been trustworthy so far. Best watch the woods...and her' Serena reasoned to herself.

Her comrade, a woman substantially taller and broader than she, moved without even a whisper of sound-a strange trick given the snow and her bulky armor. Serena suspected the work of some spell she did not know. Then she was among the remains of the shattered wagon, a crossbow in one hand and a ready Conjuration spell in another. 'Even with her spells' assurance, she's still watchful,' Serena recognized. She wondered how much that wariness was for these 'Falmer' and how much much be for Serena herself. Neither of them had arrived at this place in their lives and unlives on the back of a hay cart, to be sure.

Abruptly she stood and trotted with a lazy speed back to Serena's position, after spending minutes moving through the wreckage, lifting debris, smelling, tasting in one or two cases, and for some examinations removing a gauntlet to touch signs directly. "It's Falmer, no doubt about it," she informed her in a crisp accent Serena didn't recognize.

"Falmer? Joan, I didn't have much reading to do in my room," she replied wryly.

A fleeting smirk of appreciation at her humor-Serena was beginning to harbor a hope that her companion enjoyed wit as dry as she did-before it vanished. "Falmer. According to lore they're the descendents of Snow Elves, who inhabited Skyrim before and then during the arrival of Men. In the course of time they clashed and were steadily pushed back by Nords and then pushed _under_ by those pressures. So the stories go, they took refuge with the Dwemer who were probably as cold-blooded and pragmatic as any men or mer that have ever lived, and in return for safety they demanded servitude. But while they did give safety from Men, if they promised safety from themselves they lied. Somehow they caused the Falmer to go blind over generations, and kept them underground as slaves."

Serena listened, fascinated. Joan had a way with words and Serena a passion for history, and here was not only a history of wars and defeats she'd never heard, but of entire peoples of whom she knew almost nothing-for Joan's tale evoked memories of Snow Elves, almost legend even when she was alive. Furthermore, Joan spoke with the air of someone who was reciting from careful study rather than campfire tale. But she wasn't done yet.

"Whoever was at fault, slave rebellions are never 'honorable' wars," Joan continued with another wry smile in response to Serena's acknowledgment of her irony. "It's unclear who would have won, since this was not long before all Dwemer save one vanished from Tamriel entirely-indeed from Mundus so far as we know-and the Falmer were left in possession of much of their vacated holdings. That was cen-"

"Wait, _what?_" Serena exclaimed. "The Dwemer did _what?_" she asked, unable to stifle her incredulity. As she spoke she began to wonder if she was being mocked or worse, lied to for some hidden purpose and her gaze sharpened.

For her part, Joan's expression pinched with irritation but no discernable deceit that Serena could read-and her predator's senses gave her an edge in that regard over most women. "There's no _time_," she hissed with frustration. "I've already spent too much time explaining-hazard of my work-and there's not a moment to be lost. That," she pointed abruptly at the wagon, "is the wagon of a family of no less than six with themselves, their cattle, and most of their possessions attacked and abducted by Falmer not more than two hours ago. The signs couldn't be more clear and if we had more time I would take you through my reasons for knowing these things. But for the moment your homecoming will have to wait." She was speaking in a terse, almost angry voice used to being obeyed but checked herself.

She directed a long measuring glance at Serena who was just about to bridle at the evaluation when Joan continued. "Right. Sorry. Obviously I can't tell you when to go home," Joan said matter-of-factly, though Serena noted she said nothing at all about _stopping _her. "But I can't go with you until this is taken care of. They've likely eaten at least one of the survivors already, or fed them to their chaurus. Within a day they'll be either dead or so deep they'll likely never be found-it depends entirely on how hard things are among the Falmer. Whereas you," that considering look again, "have waited for what is at least two thousand years if I guess correctly-_yes_, two millenia," she overrode Serena's horrified interruption, "and can surely wait another day or two. Now, will you help me, Serena?" Joan asked with an urgency that in spite of herself began to sweep Serena along with it.

"A day or two. Right. Well, where are we heading?" she asked with a shrug of her shoulders and as Joan began to explain, Serena listened with half an ear wondering at this new turn her newly restored life had taken. Was this loneliness, that caused her to shrink from abandoning her companion, the first in so long? Pragmatism, since she didn't know where she was after all? But no. She had marked Solitude with her own eyes, and in any event it would be simple for her to get directions if she needed them.

Was it...fear? 'No. No, there's something about this woman who no doubt trusts me no more than I her, but she is after all a mortal and however capable if I can't kill her outright I can certainly escape her if I choose.' Thus reassured when her new...friend? No, it was too soon for that but she had travelled with people she liked considerably less. When her new comrade set a course for them after carefully consulting maps and a journal, it was with a blend of excitement and confusion that she found herself heading back into a cavern almost hidden by brush, heading quickly down deep into an unknown mountain.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm getting the strangest feeling that I've been here bef-," Serana stopped herself in a deadpan voice. "No, too roomy," she concluded.

Only supernaturally good night vision let her catch the grin of appreciation at this. But as quickly as it came, it went and she put a warning finger to her mouth, shushing Serana from her spot several paces away. The scent of Breton blood was heavy in the air, and had it not been for a briefly awkward moment when some bandits who really should have known better had slaked her thirst, Serana after so long imprisoned would've been positively _antsy. _She caught Joan's remonstrative gesture to her own ears, and wondered just how good the hearing of a race blind for centuries might actually be. 'I suppose we'll soon find out' she thought grimly. As much as she disliked being underground so soon again, she was eager to get a glimpse of these Falmer, as well as to get this business done and herself back on her way home. But she was also looking forward to seeing more of her new companion in action. Her mind was far from made up about this budding partnership, and she needed more information to reach good conclusions.

So far it was easy to see how it was Joan who came to free her from her prison. No undead, that was clear, Joan nonetheless navigated the dark caverns and tunnels with ease. In fact they were completely black in places, where the light of glowing mushrooms didn't give some illumination. How she managed to see with mortal eyes was a mystery to Serana, but her creeping silence was not. She didn't recognize the spell, but it was renewed with such regularity that it was plain that while Joan might be quite the stealthy scout, it was magic that let her maneuver with so much armor and such a heavy pack. Down, down, down they went with only an infrequent streak of blood or discarded belonging to mark their targets. Serana courteously waited until her companion wasn't looking before putting finger to the fluid and tasting. A sharp, cold sensation, the copper of the blood blended with the minerals of the cavern but underneath, savory fear. Much less pleasant was the aftertaste of stark despair, which Serana had never taken to. In the human blood, that was. Once she got a taste of ox blood she put aside her hunger with a grimace.

The cavern was changing now. Smell and sight and...sound? Yes, sound. The walls, bare hewn rock, were becoming less rough as the paces rolled past. A strange, distant hum could be heard and even partly felt through the stone and here and there could be seen a dark golden brassy color peeping through. Joan's wariness seemed to increase the further they traveled without any sign of trouble. The blood was less stale and even slightly less cold now, when they encountered it and Serana's keen nose caught the scent of some truly foul, new odors. Stopping in response to an upheld fist, she followed Joan when she led her into a side-passage in what was now unmistakably Dwemer construction. Metal the color of brass but of much greater strength gleamed, and strange mechanical flames lit portions of the passage. The pair crept quietly into a side room and Serana stiffened, wondering if this was the end to some elaborate trap. She readied herself for anything, but the only spells Joan cast were familiar to her-any vampire would recognize Detect Life.

'But...what did she whisper?' Serana wondered, and if she had been less confident she would have wondered if she'd imagined it. Creeping close-and here Serana tensed visibly-Joan made a calming gesture with her hands, palms out to show no spell or weapon was ready. Waiting for consent, she approached closer still until she was speaking nearly into Serana's pale ear, so long unused.

"This is one of the deeper, more established settlements. I've seen signs of at least a dozen creatures, some Falmer and some Chaurus, along this path. None appear to be the family or their cattle. Everything I warned you of on the surface applies doubly and triply here, because the deeper you go the stronger and more numerous they get," Joan warned. Serana was grim. Strong poisons would harm even an ancient vampire in sufficient strength and quantity, and it seemed these Falmer were very, very fond of them. They made a habit of striking from ambush with spell and arrow-poisoned, of course-and Joan had known strong, tested warriors fall in seconds from a dizzying rush of sneak attacks. Then there were the Dwemer constructs which were so unlike anything else in Tamriel that Joan could only impart the concepts.

Nodding seriously to indicate her attention, Serana waited for Joan to continue. "I've seen you raise the dead. You'll want to do that from the start, and check your back and mine regularly. These caverns have all sorts of side passages that are easy to miss. If we see any Automatons, remember what I said about lightning. If you've got anything that makes your spells more powerful, be ready to use it when I call for it. These fights can go from winnable to drop-your-stuff-run in a heartbeat, Oblivion take them," she grimaced in disgust.

"Too good for `em. Throw `em in a rock box," Serana replied, as much to express sympathy with her companion as to express her own thoughts on the Falmer, whom she was largely indifferent to. She would be ready to flee regardless of any _signals_ she might see, if the need arose. This adventure was optional for her.

Still, it seemed to work. With a smile of appreciation-minus the dry irony more common to her smiles so far-Joan nodded and beckoned her to follow. It was a surprising gesture, this human showing her back to a vampire she'd only just meant. Capable though she was, still, that took nerve, trust, or foolhardiness. Serana wasn't sure which when just a moment before the gesture, she caught her first glimpse of a Falmer, and a wretched sight it was.

The working of Dwemer machinery-and how she longed to spend hours marveling over it!-was piping air inward the cavern so there was no scent, and it was clear the Falmer had caught theirs, or something like it. It crept about nimbly but in a strange, animalistic gait whose strangeness Serana couldn't identify. 'Perhaps that is the movement of a blind creature?' she wondered. Its hideous head abruptly swiveled towards them, very nearly straight at them, and it raised its staff but before it could there was a sharp note of machinery, a whistle, and a distant thump as the Falmer suddenly sported a third, feathered nostril and collapsed in a boneless heap. Its assassin crept closer quickly, retrieving her bolt while listening intently, cautiously. Then with a grimace of disgust, she opened the Falmer's neck and smeared much of her armor and what bare skin there was with its blood.

Long a hunter of intelligent prey, Serana understood instantly and her respect for Joan's skill and determination rose. Clearly she loathed the creatures, and the _smell!_ Even for a human without a gifted nose, it must be truly awful...but Serana had not attained her vampiric status by stinting at the loathesome, and so she followed suit. Their scent thus partly masked, the two continued, with periodic pauses for the two to check ahead with their own Detect Life. More than once Serana was _sure_ she heard a very, very faint whisper-and Joan seemed careful never to face her when words that almost sounded like, "Lost year mirror," which made _no _sense at all. A mystery to be considered at another time for now there were two Falmer and a Chaurus, one of them heavily armored in what according to Joan was the skin of the insects.

Gestures made it plain that the animal must be left for last, and that Serana had responsibility for the armored Falmer while Joan handled the one wearing only-'Ugh!' Serana thought-a loincloth but wielding a wicked looking staff. Her bolt was poked delicately into the mouth of a nondescript bottle, and then she was ready which was just as well since their scent while not immediately alarming was still clearly noted, and confusing. Strange, rasping calls sounded before the click of handheld machinery echoed off the walls and the mage-Falmer's throat was pierced. Serana's spell took hold of the warrior and then, while Joan rushed forward drawing a strange sword with a rasp of...metal?...Serana directed her attention to the Chaurus, only to narrowly avoid a blast of poison to her face. Expression twisting in anger, she turned its senses against it and tricked its proto-brain into imagining that all was peace even as Joan's blade found a gap easily in the immobilized Falmer and took its life. A stroke of the sword strong enough to merit a warcry-but of course didn't get one-ended the Chaurus's life as well.

Another successful skirmish, but now things were grim. There were the plain sounds of angry Falmer echoing from deeper within the caverns and even-or was it a trick of echoes and wind and machinery?-the sound of a child screaming. The tramp of armored feet and the readying of spells was easily to be heard in the distance, and Joan's countenance was grim indeed as she reloaded her crossbow.

"Raise some dead, Serana, we've got a fight on our hands," she said with a scowl so grim and yet so bloodthirsty that Serana would have been reminded of her father, if it hadn't been missing the gleam of religious mania. And then a veritable horde of Falmer and chittering Chaurus was on them.


End file.
